


back pockets

by orphan_account



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Get together fic, Kissing, M/M, Pining, also a little bit of wtf happened in the summer fic, i love (my?) jellybean, jellybean is a good sister, jughead gets some love, swearing - sorry guys its like my thing, this is an apology for my last two fics (angsty and non-ace jughead) so have fluff and aceness, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 13:26:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10103906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jellybean Jones plays matchmaker.Moose and Reggie, Jellybean and Veronica make bets.Archie and Jughead get their heads out of their asses (eventually)





	

The first person she (re)met was Sheryl Blossom. It wasn’t as terrifying as it could have been, nor as polite as it should have been. The redheaded girl with the pretty pink lip gloss and the flawless figure gave her a tiny smile before skipping down to scuffed high heels and light wash skinny jeans. There was, very suddenly, a cute, simpering smile on her face.

“Cheryl Blossom, pleasure. New to the town?”

“Considering there’s a whopping four thousand people and I don’t remember where the corner store is, that’s a given, _Cheryl_.” She smiles lightly. “I’m Jellybean.”

Cheryl’s eyes are considering, slightly cold, though her smile is warm and tinged with something like a sunset. “The Jones sister?” The other girl smiles, but doesn’t say anything. Cheryl huffs, throws her hair over her shoulder. “It’s on Seventh, next to the salon. Shouldn’t you know that, little one?”

“No, that’s the high-end natural foods place. I’m looking for some iced tea, Cheryl, not some cucumber water.”

There isn’t quite a crowd gathered around them, but if it lasts any longer there will be. Cheryl’s bees are standing behind her, fanned out like the cover of a superhero magazine. A group of boys, tall and edged with Letterman jackets are standing a few feet from them. Jellybean turns slightly, tilting her head towards the person who’s come up on her left side, standing about a foot away, their feet edged in her direction.

“It’s no wonder you don’t know where the convenience store is, Golden Girl, considering how much you adore _inconveniencing_ the rest of us,” his voice is biting and sardonic, edged in bemusement. She takes in his collarbones, the hollows just a touch too endless, his grey shirt loose collared, yet flattering, his hoodie old and ragged. She drags her eyes up pale skin to his mouth, like a slash of milky blood, to his eyes. They’re deeply bruised with sleeplessness, but sharp, and she smiles. It’s been a while.

“I’m gonna have to take a rain check on our convenience store date, Cheryl.” Jellybean makes eye contact with her brother for the first time in, well, years, face carefully neutral. His eyes are pale, like and not like the rest of him. “I heard something about the milkshakes at Pop’s.”

“Figured you might’ve,” He says to her, raising his head to wink in the direction of the athletic boys. A redhead with big brown eyes and a wide mouth raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Gonna come dine with the peasants, Arch?”

“We won’t love you just for your letterman jacket, gingerbread,” Jellybean adds, tossing soft pink hair over one shoulder, giving Cheryl a slow, mocking look-over and a wink. Arch looks surprised, an almost-frown caught on his face, outweighed by amused eyebrows, while the dark-haired boy ticks the corners of his mouth up in a tiny smile, looking playful. Archie grins widely, because there’s only one person in the world who calls him gingerbread, only one who Jughead _actually_ enjoys spending time with, who he lets sit next to him in his booth at Pop’s. (He ignores the ache in his stomach that tells him: _that used to be you. he used to care about you enough for that, you used to matter to someone beautiful_ )

“Where you going, Archie? Come on, man, you’re gonna go hang out with Hot Topic?” a tall, Asian boy with skinny jeans and vans says, frowning. Archie shrugs, raising his heads like ‘what are you gonna do?’ before sweeping Jellybean up in a hug, crushing her tiny form to his chest, laughing when she protests.

“Archie,” She says, grinning, “Mind introducing me to the princess?”

“Cheryl?” Archie asks, glancing towards the redhead.

She laughs. “No, thanks, I met Pretty In Pink over there.” She elbows the boy next to her, who leans away and back into her in quick succession. “Princess.”

Archie’s eyes go wide before he laughs, mouth big. “Christ,” he says, still laughing.

“Piss off, Archie,” Princess says with another tiny smile. “Jughead Jones the III, official court jester.” He pauses. “Have we met?” His tone is completely deadpan, devoid of any humour except for a strange little dance around his eyes.

“The third, huh? Wow what are the other ones like? Are they as charming as you?”

“Kind of an asshole, actually,” Archie says, stepping to walk on Jughead’s other side.

“And here I was imagining all the side-splitting laughter and joy we’d have to endure,” Jellybean says, tone dry, stumbling on the side walk and knocking her shoulders into Jughead’s ribs. Archie laughed again, catching the other boy’s falling steps.

“Christ, you’re tiny, ‘Bean, what happened to the rest of you?”

“Archie, I hate to break it you, pal, but you’re shorter than me and I’m not exactly an oak tree.”

“By an inch, Jug, that doesn’t –”

“Grand Sequoias are larger, actually, which would create a more accurate metaphor,” Jellybean pipes up from a few feet behind them, toeing off her four inch heels. Without the heels, she only comes up to their chests, and they both crane their heads to look her in the eyes. Without the heels, she looks younger and softer, her jeans rolled up past her ankles, ripped and mangled, her black t-shirt fitting loosely against her body, her huge grey cardigan, thickly woven falling nearly to the ground, suddenly a little big and a lot endearing. Her hair, dyed light pink, the roots showing the natural black, falls just past her hips and huge feather earrings dangle from her ears, brushing her collarbones. Her lips are painted bright-dark burgundy, a braver shade than most. Even the faint light of the street lamp, her eyes look huge peaking out from behind winged eyeliner.

This isn’t what she used to be. Her hair was dark brown, her eyes big and wide and young, innocent, the kind that pulled on her brother’s shirt sleeves, and asked for cotton candy. She was bony, with sharp elbows and knees. This is a woman, someone who stresses about homework and boys and girls and lipstick, about where she’s going. Her hips are wide, like her mother’s were, her shoulders are board, with a tiny waist, a large chest, and she’s so clearly, so obviously _grown_ that Archie blinks away tears.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Jughead do the same.

“I’m not a dwarf, you know, I’m just short.” Archie and Jughead both jerk slightly, pulled from reveries.

“I know the politically correct term is ‘little people’, ‘Bean, I don’t mean to offend,” Jughead says dryly, turning his back to the girl and squatting down slightly. She only stops for a moment, before she tosses her heels to Archie with a little ‘Think fast Mr. Football Man!’ before hopping onto Jughead’s back, curling her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders. Archie stands in shock, watching the scene with his mouth slightly open. Jughead hates touching other people – hates people in general – and has for as long as Archie could remember. He refused to wrestle or play tackle football, or to dance at any of the pep rallies.

He’s forgotten, in the last eight years, that Jughead loves his sister.

She’s the most precious thing in the world to him, next to burgers and milkshakes at Pop’s. The casual sense of affection he has with her, the touching, the hugs, the laughter, is still there, even after so many years, more prevalent than it’s ever been with Archie or Betty.  

The walk is loud and boisterous and they get more than a few strange looks from the people who drive by them on the quiet street. It’s twenty minutes to walk to Pop’s from the center of town, and Archie expects Jug to ease Jellybean off his back at some point, to let her walk by his side. Honestly, he doesn’t expect him to be able to hold her up the whole walk, because she’s not _big_ , but she has more substance than her, frankly (and worryingly) scrawny brother. He doesn’t let up the whole way, never staggering, pausing to adjust her once or twice, when she starts to skip down his back, both of them laughing as they try and hitch her up. Archie doesn’t know how to reconcile these two Jugheads in his mind – the one who pulls away and gives small, sardonic smiles, and the one who laughs and gives his grown-up baby sister piggybacks.

When they stumble into Pop’s it’s dark outside and rain has started to fall lightly. He has the diner tuned to the one hit wonder radio station, which is playing something loud and high and fast. Jughead doesn’t let her down until they’re at their usual booth, setting her right against the red plastic seats before jumping over her like he did to Veronica, sliding down next to her with a grin. They don’t lean into each other, leaving a careful few inches between them. Archie wonders about how quickly this is happening and the strange mixture of pleased and hesitant that Jellybean and Jughead exude, a growing _re_ familiarity between siblings, between best friends.

(It’s what Archie knows he and Jughead will never have. He doesn’t deserve that level of forgiveness from him, for the abandonment, for the words, for the uncaring _everything_. It hurts, a little. A lot, twinges in his gut, in his ears, fuzzing out sound for a few moments, remembering what he doesn’t deserve)

They’ve just ordered burgers and milkshakes from Pop when Betty and Veronica come stumbling in, laughing loudly, giving the other patrons apologetic grins between giggles. “Hey boys,” Veronica says, after they’ve recovered, “Mind if we sit?”

They slide into the booth, cramming Archie against the wall, before their gazes fall onto Jellybean. s

Betty frowns at her, cocking her head. “Are you new to Riverdale High?”

There’s an awkward pause, and Jughead kicks Archie under the table, giving him a look. _dont say anything, Arch, let her handle this_

“Uh, yeah, but I grew up here,” She says with a little smile. “It’s good to see you again, Bets.”

Betty’s eyes go wide, go huge, her mouth drops open, and suddenly she’s grinning, tucked in at the corners. “Jelly? Oh my god, honey.” She’s standing up across the table, giving the other girl an earnest and awkward hug. Jellybean laughs, tucking her hair behind her ears, giving Veronica a shy smile.

“I’m Jellybean Jones,” she says, sticking out her head, flashing white teeth, dark lips.

Veronica raises an eyebrow, smiles carefully, shakes her hand. “I didn’t know our resident sleuth had a sister.” There’s a hint of question in her tone that no one answers.

“Well,” Betty says, clasping the other girl’s hands across the table, cheeks flushed happy, “When do you start at Riverdale, and can I give you your tour?”  

Veronica glances at the hands, bites her lips and looks down at her own. Jughead nudges her foot under the table, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Archie frowns.

“Uh,” she says, glancing at Jughead, “Of course, Bets.”

“You’ve already read everything online about it, haven’t you?” Archie asks, smiling at her. She gives him a sly look.

“Possibly.”

“Would you look at that,” Jughead says, bumping shoulders with her, “brainy, aren’t you. Gonna go out for student council? Maybe a little cheerleading.” His tone is teasing, hiding clear, slightly judgemental curiosity beneath it.

“Ugh, student council. No offense, Betty, I just can’t stand…”

“Stuck-up know-it-alls?” Betty asks, the question slightly sad around the edges, a little resigned. Veronica and Archie both tense up.

“Bets, I don’t think that about you, I just… don’t like people. Especially ones who intimidate me.” Jellybean doesn’t make eye contact with Betty while she says it, fixing on Jughead’s hands, which are tapping a rhythm out across the table. Veronica and Betty exchange a surprised glance, smiling.

“What courses you in for?” Archie asks, slinging his arm around Veronica and Betty’s shoulders.

It’s sure a misplaced, seemingly awkward question that they all wait for the awkward to settle. When it doesn’t, though, Jughead grins.

“’Bean’s gonna come write for the Blue and Gold, bring a little more Jones into the equation against Betty’s tyrannical regime.”

Jellybean snorts into her milkshake, slaps her brother upside the head. “Elizabeth Cooper is our lord and saviour, Juggie, and you know it.”

Laughter cracks over them like thunder.

 

The conversation between the five of them didn’t stop, not until late, not until three in the morning when Pop shoed them out with an actual broom, muttering about curfew. The fact that technically Pop’s closed at one was never brought up, the fact that the man kept bringing them sandwiches and fries, and milkshakes with multiple straws until they were all groaning with how full they were.

 

Later, after Betty has driven everyone home and they’ve all received their fair share of unhappy remarks from strict parents, Veronica sends Jellybean Jones a text.

_Two questions: one, where have you been for the past eight years? Two, what happened between Jughead and Archie?_

For a few moments, there’s no response, before Veronica’s phone starts vibrating in her hands. She swipes her finger across the screen, accepting the call.

“Seriously, Jellybean, you just show up out of nowhere? You’re some serious Dawn and Buffy shit, here, and I’m not leaving you alone until you –”

“Ronnie.”

“Sorry.”

“Look, nobody knows about this, okay? Not even Archie, like we grew up together and I love him like a big brother, but he’s not the most –”

 “Observant?” She laughs. “Yeah. I noticed.”

She listens to Jellybean breathe on the other end, waits for her to speak, overcome with respect for this young girl in an odd town, with an odd family.

“My mom and dad split up when I was seven. Mom got me and dad got Jug, and I haven’t seen him since. I only came back, because…”

Veronica floods with cold, knowing what’s coming, knowing the words that are about to spew from Jellybean and _god_ what fifteen-year-old deserves this.

“Because mom died.”

“I… I’m so sorry, little one.”

Jellybean laughs into the phone, hot breath against the screen, fogging it up. “Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I don’t really know what happened with Archie, and Jughead, Ronnie. Like, they were best friends when I left, they’ve been best friends for years.” She shrugs, and Veronica can hear the shift, in tone, in her position from wherever she’s calling from. “They used to… be, uh, shit, they were becoming more than friends, in the summer, I guess. From what I’ve managed to pull from Jughead. And, they fought, pulled away from each other.”

Veronica pauses, twirling a piece of dark hair between her fingers, thinking on Archie & Jughead. She’s never really seen them together, only felt and heard and touched the clear boundaries between them, the clear _lack_ of something they used to know. She remembers that day in the rec room, the fleeting looks, the rising to Reggie’s bait.

 _“Some smug, moody, serial-killer fanboy-freak. Like Jughead. What was it like Suicide Squad? When you shot Jason? You didn’t_ do _stuff to the body did you? Like after?”_

_A breath out his nose, rolled eyes. “It’s called necrophilia, Reggie. Can you spell it?”_

_“C’mere, you little –”_

_Archie is there in a moment._

_“Hey, shut the hell up, Reggie.”_

_If Veronica knows anything, it’s boys (and girls, but that’s besides the point), boys who fight, boys who argue, boys who are going to do something incredibly, dangerously dumb. It has her mouth moving._

_“Boys.” It’s all warning, like a teacher, or a concerned mom-friend._

_“What do you care, Andrews?”_

_The use is intentional, reducing him to a title, to a last name, to just another guy on the football team._

_Archie’s immediate response, coming quick after the words, stinks like an excuse. “Nothing, just leave him alone.”_

_That gives Veronica pause, and it’s the part that she had thought back on the most. She’s never heard Archie defend anyone before or since that moment, not even (especially) himself. Who is Jughead? This sly, pretty, boy with a sharp tongue, who somehow has earned Archie’s defense?_

_“Holy crap. Did you and Donnie Darko kill him together? Was it some kind of pervy, blood-brother thing?”_

“Archie’s in love with him.” The thought makes sense. They look at each other like exes, like people who _miss_ , who used to murmur in the dark and hold each other. It’s so clear she gives a startled laugh, wincing at the thought of Betty, ignoring the jealously that sparks inside her.

“Yep.” Jellybean pops the ‘p’, laughing lightly.

“Jesus Christ, does Jughead know?”

“No, but even _Archie_ has no idea.”

Veronica can’t keep in the bubbling laughter, because where Jughead is sharp, his sister is soft, where he’s all bone and sinew, she’s all curves and carbs, but their sense of Archie, a pretty, ridiculous, unobservant boy who they love with all their hearts is the same. Their friendships make Veronica spark.

She tells Jellybean about Betty, about the high ponytail, and the cheerleading uniform ( _legs, Jellybean, her legs are everywhere and they never end. They’re like some kind of Dickens sentence, but prettier and_ ) Not even her mom knows about Betty. She trusts, though, instinctually, that Jellybean will laugh and gossip and smile with her.

 

“Ms. Jones, if I have to separate yourself and your brother, I will,” the science teacher snaps from the front of the class, not even looking over his shoulder as he scrawls something on the chalkboard.

Jughead snorts, yelps when his sister shoves him. He glares at her for a few moments, before they both collapse into giggles, hiding it behind their hands. Archie, who’s sitting in front of them, swallows something that gets stuck in his throat, the personification of everything he misses, everything he’s lost from Jughead. Their teachers used to threaten to split them up in class, but never did, knowing that it’d be worse when they tried to shout over the heads of the other students. He and Jug haven’t laughed in a class since Freshman year. He knows he shouldn’t be jealous of Jellybean, because he’s not, he doesn’t want to be Jughead’s brother. But he wants to be Jughead’s _something_. He knows that he won’t ever happen. Not anymore.

There’s a pencil poking into his shoulder, and he turns around to see identical grins on the Joneses faces.

“Uh oh,” he mutters. “What?”

Jughead nods his head towards the front of the class, face carefully innocent.

“Dr. Phyllum mixed up the sodium metal and the lithium –”

“—on the Bensen burner, which is very hot—” Jellybean continues

“—which means—”

Jughead is interrupted by a series of expletives from the doctor, who backed away from the counter quickly. “Heads down, every—” There’s a loud bang, a huge burst of smoke, and a few screams from the class. The air stinks with smoke, and there are still sparks flying from the unsuccessful experiment on the lab bench. Archie turns around, raising his eyebrows at Jellybean and Jughead, who aren’t hiding smug faces.

“Joneses! Out of my classroom now, I’ll see you after school in detention next week!

“Dr. Phyllum if you wanted to spend time with us, you only had to ask,” Jellybean says, pulling her gloves off with an elegant snap, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She winks at Archie as she walks by, and he rolls his eyes.

“If we pay, will you give us a lift to Pop’s after detention, Dr. Phyllum? After so much _hard work_ I’ll need a burger,” Jughead drawls, winking at Archie, who flushes and looks away.

 

“So,” Jellybean says, leaning against Jughead’s locker, feeling the metal dig into her back, sighing into the feeling. “When are you going to tell Archie you’re in love with him?”

Jughead rolls his eyes, shakes his head, and slams his locker closed in one clear, articulate movement. “No.”

“’No’ is not a temporal measurement, Juggie.”

“No. As in: I won’t be telling him so I don’t have to worry about the ‘when.’”

She ignores him, her monstrous heels clicking across linoleum floors, their footsteps in full syncopation with one another. They both have bags slung across their left shoulders, hair hidden under beanies (one grey, one yellow), smirks painting their faces. Jellybean winks at a stray freshman with freckles and big eyes, who blushes bright red, turning away quickly, shutting her locker with shaking fingers, dropping her book as she goes.

Jellybean turns around, walking backwards, looking at the girl. “Sorry about that, darling.”

Jughead scoffs. “You’re such a fucking tool.”

His sister elbows him. “Somebody had to get all your spare libido, Jug. How about today when you meet him for Pop’s after football practice?”

He stops, just outside the school, both hands tight around the strap of his bag, eyes fixed to the ground. “Drop it, ‘Bean, it’s not happening.”

“Why not?”

He gives her an incredulous stare, lip curling into a sneer. “He’s _Archie fucking Andrews_ ¸ Jelly, you think he’s gonna fall over himself to tell me the same? To tell me that he feels it too? What fucking bullshit, ‘Bean, he – not that way, okay? Never.”

“Why _not?_ ”

Jughead just shakes his head, walking towards her car with a renewed sense of purpose, throwing himself into the driver’s side, tossing the keys into the ignition just as she closes the door of the old pick-up truck, listening to the rusty squeak of the hinges.

“Juggie, he loves you, he’s loved you for years, you complete and _utter_ –”

“Stop.” His voice cracks at the end of the word. His breath shutters in, hands clenching on the creaking leather, untethered. “He doesn’t, Jellybean.” His voice is resigned, tired, _old_. “He kissed me in the summer, before—” He presses his forehead into his hands, and her hand finds its way to his shoulder, gentle, young, firm. “—before he fucked his music teacher in her car, and before he ditched our road trip. _Fuck_ , he kissed me, and then he _panicked,_ and _left_ , and I _lost_ him.” He chokes on a sob, breath stumbling.

Jellybean winces, leans over the gearshift to wrap her brother in a hug, trying to figure out if she can hack Jughead’s phone to get Archie’s number, or if she should just go to the Andrews’ after Pop’s.

 

Three hours later, after Jellybean has gone home (‘home’ is a loose term, currently reserved for the motel on the Southside that most of the Serpents live in, unable to pay rent on an actual house. They won’t go back to their dad, but they grew up there, in that neighbourhood, with those people, next to Joaquin Sanchez, and his mother, his grandmother, his father, and four sisters), Archie throws himself into the booth across from Jughead.

“I’m in love with you.”

The words spill from his mouth, water from the highest waterfall in the world, tossed out, tumbling onto to Jughead with the weight of millions of gallons of water.

His fingers tap out across the keys, curl into confused fists, and his knee shakes to earthquake beneath the table.

“What?”

“I’m been in love with you since we were thirteen, when you told me that loving someone meant wanting to be with him, always, no matter what.”

When Jughead doesn’t say anything, Archie’s earnest face washes out in fear, in shame.

The panic wells in him. The need to run surges, a lightbulb with too much power, too much voltage. He can feel his pulse hammering against his neck. His eyes close tight, and he curls in on himself for a second, just a moment, before he opens enough to let his vocal cords swell and vibrate through the swirl of tears.

“I know… I know that I – that I lost you, Jug. This summer. And I don’t know you don’t care, but I have to know that you know, that I told you.” He pauses, waiting for Jughead to leave, for his pale face to go bright with anger. As he speaks, he pushes through the blocks in his throat, the sting in his eyes, focusing on his best friend in the warm light, his skin washed in red, the moles on his cheeks, the bags under his eyes. He watches the murmur of his quick hands, stares at the pale mutter of his (for once) silent lips. And though he wants to, he can’t see those eyes – honest, grey, and green, warm with Pop’s neon-ness.

“I kissed you because I thought I’d never get that chance again. I slept with Grundy because it meant I wasn’t alone. And I left because I didn’t want you to tell me to leave, because I couldn’t take both, Jug. I couldn’t lose my best friend, and my – and someone, _something_ more. Someone I didn’t even have.” Archie breathes on a laugh, bringing his legs up onto the bench, leaning against the window, tight to himself. “I lost you anyways.”

They sit in silence, because there isn’t anything else to say, not for Archie. He knows that he’ll leave Pop’s, go out into the rain, because _of course_ it started raining while he lost his best friend for the second time. He’ll sit in the garage until his dad tries to make him to sleep, and he’ll explain what happened, already dried out, without tears. His dad will give them that look, the slightly surprised, but designed from empathy, from _oh, son, I should’ve saved you from that_ , and wrap him in a hug, let him know that he’ll call the school in the morning, to let them know he’s not going in.

He’ll write until morning. Beautiful songs, angry songs, songs that make him cry, that make him laugh; ones about Jughead, about the hat, or the day they met, or the day they stopped meeting; he’ll write in Jughead’s voice, sardonic, rude, edged with cynicism, and make himself cry again.

Pulling himself out of the booth, he goes to where Pop Tate is leaning against the corner, frowning. He doesn’t look back at Jughead.

“Can you pull up Jug’s tab, Pop? I’ll take care of it.”

He thinks he hears a noise from the dark-haired boy behind him, but then the clicking of the keyboard starts up again, furious, a clear bout of inspiration. Archie smiles lightly, and decides he loves that sound. That tapping, clicking, pattering like rain on tin roofs, is the sound of Jughead, comfortable, safe, _okay_.

“You sure about that, Archie? It’s pretty –”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Pop studies him for a moment, eyes flicking over to Jughead, frowning at what he sees. He shakes his head as he hands the machine to Archie, still staring at the writer.

“You’re sure about this, Jughead?”

The tapping stops, and the weighted question sits in Archie’s gut, where hope spills like oil from a fallen tanker. He freezes, halfway through his access code. The previous thoughts that had floated through his mind: about the 475$ tab, the rain, the walk, the songs he’ll write, have vanished in a moment.

“Yeah.”

Archie closes his eyes against everything. Trembling fingers misspell an access code and repeat it correctly. A closed mouth gives Pop a strained smile. A careful voice reminds Jughead that he said he’d meet Betty for breakfast at her house on Sunday, before his feet are out the door, into the rain, where the tears fall down his face without shame, or restraint.

He does everything he knew he’d do.

He falls into bed at noon, his shoes still on.

 

He wakes up at 10 o’clock the next night and the house stinks of waffles, and bacon, and eggs, and French toast. Groaning, he palms a hand down his face, feels the tacky eyelashes, the ache behind every blink, standing and stretching, toeing off his sneakers, peeling out of his clothes. It’s his dad downstairs, he knows, making him sympathy, break-up breakfast.

He’s trying not to think about it.

He pulls on grey sweatpants, forgoes socks, and pulls a black tank top over slightly stringy hair.  

The smell of food has his stomach growling when he reaches the entrance to the kitchen, words about gratitude and food and ‘it wasn’t a break-up, dad, but thanks’ falling back down his throat.

There’s two plates set on the island, in front of the spiny stools he would play with Jughead on.

He can see the eggs and the waffles on plates in the oven. The smell of grease-ridden bacon and the crackle of oil and grease in a hot pan are everything he misses about what he had with Jughead – comfort, security, laughter in a yellow kitchen at night before school.

Jughead is standing in front of the stove, over the hot pans, a spatula in hand.

Archie lets himself breathe in the illusion: his best friend, his boyfriend (maybe, someday, in a world where Archie hasn’t fucked up) the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with, safe and happy and _with him_ , at ease around him. His eyes skitter over low-slung jeans, a wash-worn tee-shirt with holes in the hem, the back of the beanie tucked around his ears. It’s fewer layers than he’s seen in years. He’s struck by Jughead’s feet – bony, dusted with dark hair – against the white of the tile floor. He’s settled.

Archie turns around, leaning heavily against the doorway, one hand braced against the panelling next to the door.

Jughead looks like he’s at home, like he belongs.

Jughead looks like _home,_ like _belonging_.

Like everything Archie isn’t allowed to have, and his chest, and stomach and ribs ache, _burn_ , with the knowledge that this is something he will never get, because it’s not something he deserves.

“I told Jellybean about what happened. At the diner.”

Archie turns around, and meets Jughead’s eyes.

He has a shy, adorable, tentative smile painted on his face, and he can’t help but return it.

“She’s so much smarter than me, you know? She’s so much stronger than me. I guess I didn’t handle _this_ right. Or something.”

The bacon bubbles insistently, and Jughead turns around to tend it, cheeks flushed.

“She is, but you’re smarter,” Archie says, eyes fixed to Jughead’s back. He wonders idly if he’s wearing the ‘S’ shirt, or if it’s one of _his_ old shirts, one that fit before his growth spurt. “And stronger. And I love her to death, a-and I – I love you, Juggie, but if you’re here because Jellybean told you –”

“I’m not.”

He scrapes the spatula against the bottom of the frying pan, dumping the bacon onto a paper towel, clattering the pan into the sink, patting the excess grease out of the bacon, before he slides it onto a plate, puts the plate in the oven. The French toast gets the same treatment.

“When you kissed me in the summer,” he starts, eyes fixed on the floor as he pops himself up on the counter, fingers picking at his hangnails. Archie flinches, crosses his arms over his chest. “When you kissed me in the summer, I thought you loved me.”

“I did. I do. Jug—”

“But you left, Arch, before I could say anything, and you told me to forget it, that I clearly regretted it, and then you were gone. And I texted you, and called you, and asked your dad about you, and he wouldn’t tell me anything, just laughed and told me to ask you myself. I wanted to talk to you, and I thought I would during the Fourth of July, but you…”

“I didn’t come.” The words fall thick from a thick tongue.

“I tried to convince myself that I didn’t love you,” he continues.

Archie can’t stop himself. “Did it work?”

Jughead rolls his eyes, and meets his eyes, inhaling at the wide-pretty-hot-chocolate that stares back.

“No, Archie, of course it didn’t work, you dumbass. I’ve been in love with you for years, you think that one fight was going to stop me?”

Archie breaths, once, loudly, in or out, or something, but Jughead is too distracted to remember which, because the red-headed boy is crowding into his space, not touching him, but almost almost _almost_ there.

“Jug. Jug, Jug, could I—?”

He brings his hands up to Archie’s face, one on his jaw, one in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and kisses him. It’s soft, soft mouths on each other, one, two, three, four, five kisses, before it’s long and they’re laughing into it, pressing close. Archie’s hands fall to his hips, squeezing lightly.

It takes a couple of hours before they get to the food.

 

They find each other at school on Monday, holding hands in the hallway, even as Jughead shoves him, and calls him gross, and an asshole, bickering about the detention after school.

“I  really don’t have to go, Arch, I have like a 98 in that class—”

Archie smiles. “Is Jughead Jones maybe admitting that he wants to spend time with me?”

Jughead rolls his eyes, pulls his boyfriend in by his letterman jacket, pressing the front of his body against Archie’s, mouth insistent on his.

“ _Wooo_ , Frakenstein’s got moves, get it, Andrews!” Reggie calls from half-way down the hallway.

“Frankenstein was the scientist, not the monster, Mantle,” Jellybean says with rolled eyes.

“Whatever, bubblegum. Moose, you owe me ten bucks!”

“Fuck! Goddamn, Andrews, couldn’t have kept it in your pants for another year?”

“You made bets on Arch and Jug, too?” Jellybean asks with a laugh, watching Moose pass a reluctant ten bucks to Reggie. He smirks, and laughs.

“Who’d you bet with?”

Jellybean smiles, winks (Reggie flushes, shoves Moose when he waggles his eyebrows), and turns to Veronica, who’s standing at her locker a couple feet away, digging in her purse.

“Burgers are on me, tonight, Jug!” Jellybean shouts as she takes the two hundred bucks from Veronica, waving it in the air, shrieking when Reggie grabs her from behind, trying to grab it from her, teasing.

Archie pulls away from Jughead, face flushed, lips swollen. “Sorry, ‘Bean,” he says, “He’s got plans tonight.”

Jughead laughs, tilted his head back, carding his hands through Archie’s hair. “Oh, do I?”

He pecks Archie on the mouth, quickly, before moving down the hallway, adjusting his beanie. “What the fuck, Reggie, put my sister down, you dickwad.”

Jellybean just laughs, cheeks pink from under Reggie’s arm around her shoulders, her arm around his waist.

Archie smiles, grabs his books from his locker, and heads to first period, tucking his hand into Jughead’s back pocket as they walk.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is my apology for angst and non-ace jughead  
> and this is like tenten not what i should be working on but that's fine i promise more soulmate thingies and dark!jarchie is coming (dark!jarchie is really hard guys cause i dont wanna make it pervy, but its so easy to do that?? ugh dilemmas)
> 
> anyways, hope you liked, lemme know i always reply to comments if you've got questions or something or you can come bother me on tumblr timetravellingcabinetofwonders
> 
> have a great day lovelies,  
> xx  
> mads


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